Yesterday, at the course I'm taking on cognitive behavioural therapy for depression, one of the teachers read a guided imagery called
The River which saw you on the bank of a large, wide, deep river, with boats coming and going, against the current and with the current. The boats were named; there was "Contentment", "Depression", "Anger", "Joy", and many others. Some came closer and closer to you and you did not want them near you. You climbed down the sunny bank where you were seated and waded into the river. You put your hands up and said "stop". The boat kept coming. You grabbed it by the stern and tried to push it away faster, but it just got mired on a sand bar and stayed longer. The boat "Joy" you tried to hold onto but it pulled you off your feet and broke free. And eventually you learned to climb out of the river, dry off on the sunny bank, and watch the boats come and go, the ones you want, the ones you don't, knowing that they come and go and there is nothing you can do to control them in any meaningful way.
And then this morning, I found a reading in the Melody Beattie daily reader,
The Language of Letting Go. She writes:
Picture yourself swimming - floating - peacefully down a gentle stream. All you need to do is breathe, relax, and go with the flow. Suddenly, you become conscious of your situation. Frightened, overwhelmed with "what if's?" your body tenses. You begin to thrash around, frantically looking for something to grab on to. You panic so hard you start to go under. Then you remember - you're working too hard at this. You don't need to panic. All you need to do is breathe, relax, and go with the flow: you won't drown.
Panic is our great enemy.
We don't need to become desperate. If overwhelming problems appear in our life, we need to stop struggling. We can tread water for a bit, until our equilibrium returns. Then we can go back to floating peacefully down the gentle stream. It is our stream. It is a safe stream. Our course has been charted. All is well.
And this is comforting. Today, I will let myself float downstream more than I grasp frantically at old ways to anchor myself.
Blessed be.